Bitter Cravings
by Crude and Unusual
Summary: Cartman defies the laws of nature for Kyle, but their newfound relationship might be just as unstable as the stitches across their wounds. Will the force of their blasphemy catching wind be enough to tear them apart?
1. Self-surgery

**(Ah! Sorry! Long intro, but I'll keep the stuff at the bottom short and sweet.) I'm still here! Still writing! I'm really sorry I haven't been updating Eat and Forget. The next chapter was written, and than promptly and horrifyingly deleted by the cruel creator from above (and also iTunes). Blame my inability to back up my phone regularly. I WILL be coming out with more material on that. Hopefully shortly.**

**THIS story is something that I've been casually writing for a while, so I decided to finally put out the first section of it. It's nothing like Eat and Forget... It's still predominantly Kyle x Cartman. But get this- it's CONSENSUAL. Bitter Cravings is... an AU that takes place sort of in the early twentieth century... but with modern and sci-fi elements? It's not even slightly realistic. Cause reality sucks. No one wants to read about that. I know I don't.**

**I DO want to put a GORE warning here. Nonsensical blood and guts! Also if you're really sensitive to death this story may be no good for you... Other than that it's pretty tame in my opinion. There's a surprising lack of bumping uglies at least.**

**(OH! And I platinumed Stick of Truth on Playstation a couple weeks ago. Holy crap. Incessant farting will never not be funny. And nazi zombie aborted fetuses... (Fuck, this is why I can't get a girlfriend, huh? Another mystery solved, gang.))**

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Three shaking figures slumped together, becoming a single monstrous black creature on the grey landscape. They loomed over one of the hundreds of tombstones to litter the old cemetery. Nothing was aesthetically different about the grave. To a passer by the unmoving stone might've been there for days, years, even decades. The looming thoughts of the decomposing old bones below the surface passed with ease. The grass and dirt doing it's job to separate the living and the dead.

One of the men held a bright bouquet in it's pale white hands. The flowers seemed to be the only thing in sight that's color wasn't drained by the death that covered the graveyard like fog. With one last heavy sigh, they set them down on the grave, than quietly separated. Two men went in opposite directions, fear of tears keeping them from looking back.

One man stayed, standing at the foot of the freshly placed dirt.

Eric Cartman was large in all respects, standing nearly six feet off the ground, and bearing the weight of at least three men his same height. Many called him a monster, not just for his appearance but also for his nasty demeanor and well known cruelty. The body laying six feet beneath the man was as much proof that the good die young, as the man standing six feet above the body was proof that evil never dies.

Eric knew the dead man was his antithesis. They should have hated one another. Maybe they did. But there was something else there. Something that had made Eric's heart cease to beat when he'd got the news. It still felt as if it hadn't returned to his chest. The man buried beneath him, however infuriating at times, had always been in his life. In a way, the man had been Eric's muse.

Eric read the gravestone once more, his watering eyes drifting over each familiar letter. The name etched into the stone made so many emotions run through him. He whispered it, perhaps hoping he'd hear a voice reply. "Kyle," he repeated quietly, voice cracking in sadness.

"I have to go, now," Eric told the dirt, "But, I promise I'll be back tonight."

His heart had died with Kyle, but Eric hoped he would be able to make it pump once more.

The echo of the clock striking three rang through the graveyard. Eric crossed through the graves with a quick, uneasy step, his long black coat flapping in the breeze. The brown, under-watered grass crunched under his boots. It made him wonder a few times if the steps were merely his own, but no shadows of men moved in the corners of his vision. His only company was the rusted shovel draped over his shoulder.

When he finally found Kyle's grave, he smiled, "Didn't think I'd be back, did you? So little faith, Jew."

His shovel took it's first plunge into the dirt. Worries flipped through his his mind. If he got caught, he might not be able to find a way around the consequences this time... But surely no one was going to come out here tonight. There was talk of a thunderstorm. It would keep others away, but it added the fear of getting caught in the rain himself. Everything had to work out. This had to work.

Two and a half hours, and a bucket of sweat later Eric was standing in a hole threatening to overtake his height. His work had revealed the coffin, but he stayed still, looking frightfully at the thing. Would it be his old friends face starring back at him or something darker? It couldn't have been long enough for his body to decompose, but the idea still haunted him. Supernatural ideas contaminated his mind, fear of the unknown ringing in the night.

When he finally lifted the cover, Kyle's still, white body lay underneath. If you squinted, it looked like he was just sleeping. Eric shook his head at his previous nerves. What had he expected? He'd attended the open casket no more than two days ago. Of course Kyle looked the same as had than. Peaceful and unmoving in his brown suit, hands folded over his unbeating heart.

Thunder struck somewhere in the distance. Cartman swallowed anxiously, and reached out for his dead friend, "I'm getting you out of here."

He laid Kyle's body carefully on the grass while he covered up the grave. His pulse rose, his worries of rain and people noticing the desecration of Kyle's resting place still flitting around his thoughts. Sweat accumulated on his brow from the exertion of moving the dirt for the second time. He frowned down at the dead body sprawled out on the yard, "The things I do for you," he whispered.

The long anticipated rain finally came. Cartman decided that the grave was convincing enough. The storm would cover up any inconsistencies. He hitched Kyle's stiff body over his shoulder and made his way to the little black buggy parked outside the big iron gate that surround the cemetery.

The car ride to his house helped calm him a bit. Seeing Kyle in the rearview mirror was oddly comforting. Eric had a morbid conversation with the body, filling in it's silent part with what he imagine Kyle would say.

The rain was pouring down in droves by the time Eric's home came into sight. It was sizable house, bought with a nice amount of money he'd inherited from a series of family members. Consumption had taken many of the stubborn Cartman family, who refused to quarantine themselves. They knew the only promising child in the family, and least likely to spend the money on liquor and other sinful pleasures was Eric.

Few people knew, and fewer people believed that in the highest tower Eric had a set up where he preformed various, at many times unethical, experiments. Sometimes on animals, and even human parts. He studied things out of curiosity and to find things that might be crucial for his health in later years. The truth was, he'd found a cure for tuberculosis long ago, when he first felt there was a danger he could parish from it. But why share it with his dying relatives, when it wasn't profitable? Maybe after the rest of his family was gone, he'd sell the cure.

Eric carried The body up the winding spiral staircase to his little laboratory. He flopped it down onto the table, trying to not damage anything. A skinny grey tabby came and rubbed against Eric's legs. The cat had an ugly scar around it's head, and another on his ribcage. "That's right, Mr. Kitty," Eric cooed, kneeling down to pet the old cat fondly, "It worked for you, didn't it?" His eyes moved up to Kyle's paper white hand dangling off the table. "We're just going to try something a little bigger this time..."

So the experiment had begun. He cut Kyle's body open, decided what needed fixed, new parts. He'd had some fresh organs on ice that he'd borrowed specifically for this project. His friend, Mr. Stotch was the local mortician. He was a scrawny little pushover who was all too eager to please, and sickened Eric with his daintiness and constant stupid smile. But the man had his uses.

He found the cause of death to be kidney failure. Eric's heart dropped. No kidneys. Kyle's stupid blood-type was a difficult one to match, he'd been lucky to harvest any good organs at all. But it looked like game over.

Morning sunlight poured in through the window, peaking through the thick grey clouds cleansing the town below with their ever-flowing raindrops. Oranges and yellows lit up the great landscape. Cartman pushed the glass window open, looking tiredly out onto the world stretched out before him. The beauty of the wee hours mocked his failure. In spite of his troubles, the Earth continued to spin. Kyle was dead. Why should there be beauty or life or anything when Cartman's chest felt so damn empty?

His face suddenly lit up, inspired. He did know one person with the same blood-type. "No... It's insane..." Eric told himself. But when he looked back at Kyle's opened body, he cringed. He'd come so far. A deep inhale. He closed his eyes, trying to come up with any other alternative. Nope. the thought occurred to him, if he couldn't bring him back, Eric wasn't sure he really wanted to live in that world anyway.

"He's worth it. He's worth it..." Cartman chanted quietly, "Here goes... everything." It was difficult for him to see over his fat, but he'd set up some mirrors, and put all his tools in arms reach. He injected some light painkillers into himself, although he knew that it probably wouldn't do much. But anything more and his motor skills would go to shit. Fingers crossed that the shock of the pain wouldn't kill him. Eric couldn't keep his hand from shaking as he lowered the scalpel onto himself. His screams filled the house, but he kept his concentration on his task. He had to keep his breathing steady, hyperventilation would increase his heartbeat... even more... and he would bleed out.

The self surgery seemed to go on forever. But everytime he felt himself start to pass out, he would force himself to think of his reason for doing this. "He's worth it," he thought over and over again. Blood and fatty tissue were strewn across and the table. Eric was positive he was going to die. But the kidney was out. He'd managed to remove it without damaging the precious organ. Eric had to survive this now. If he could save himself, he could save his muse. With a new found strength, he put himself back together. Sewing the incision up was painful, but nothing compared to the ache the rest of his body screamed with.

Eric couldn't believe that he'd actually done it. It was probably the stupidest, most... selfless thing he'd ever done. And his body begged him for rest. But there was no time. No time.

When he was done with Kyle, there were more stitches on him than a rag doll. The most unsightly was definitely the one that wound all the way around his head. Cartman regretted having to shave the body's hair, but it was the only way. It would probably grow back if this actually worked.

One final touch, and a silent prayer. It had to work. Eric pulled Kyle's mouth open, and poured a glowing blue liquid out of a vile, down his throat. After a moment, when nothing happened, he picked up Kyle's lithe wrist to check for a pulse.

Nothing.

Eric bit his lip. What a disaster. His eyes trailed down to his bloodied scar. How was he even standing right now? He needed to get himself cleaned up and into bed right away...

But before he could move another muscle, he heard a sound. It wasn't much. Just a little cough. And... the eyelids twitched! Eric checked Kyle's pulse again. It was weak, but there. A joy like no other he'd ever felt filled him, even in his crippling pain, covered in blood and gore. He choked out a sob, "Thank God," as a side note to God, he looked toward the sky and narrowed his eyes, "Don't let him be a vegetable, you dick."

Cartman all but passed out on the table that night, and slept all the way through that day, and the next night through to the following afternoon. His eyes blinked open to the bright light shining in through the window. When his memory came to him, he sat up. A little too quickly. His stitches pulled and his entire lower section ached with an unbearable pain. His back wasn't feeling awesome from sleeping on the hardwood table for over 24 hours either.

He turned to the adjacent table he'd left Kyle on. His eyes widened. Nothing was there. "Oh fuck, fucking Jew!" Eric frantically peered around the room. Finally he caught the sight of a pair of dull green eyes peeking out from behind the curtain.

"Kyle? What are you...?" Eric stopped. The bald scared thing hiding from him had a look on it's face he'd seldom seen from Kyle-fear. It was hiding from him. "Come on out, now, what's wrong with you?"

Kyle's head shook slowly. Basic motor functions seemed okay, and he appeared to understand English and was able to respond. Even if it wasn't the response Eric wanted. "Can you talk?" he asked.

There was silence, than a small voice answered, "Yes."

"Do you know who I am?"

Kyle shook his head, no.

"Do you know what YOUR name is?"

"No..." Kyle twisted the curtain nervously in his hands.

Eric's heart sank. This faceless thing... It may look and sound like Kyle... but it wasn't him. It was afraid and unknowing. Still, a small flame of hope burned in him. Maybe the memory loss was temporary- shock induced, or something that could be repaired...

"I... I thought you were dead," Kyle whispered, "All that blood."

"Nah, not yet," Eric grunted, and with a great amount of effort stand up, "How long have you been awake?"

"I don't know..."

Eric sighed, he needed to ask more questions to gauge the mental state his patient was in, and they both needed to eat and rest, "Well... Come on. We can't stay up here forever. But once we go down the stairs, we should both avoid them for a while. Our stitches could split."

Kyle was slow to come out from behind the curtain. His naked, hairless body shivering in the cold air, "What happened? Why... Why are we like this?"

Cartman paused, "It's a long story. I promise I'll tell it to you. But for now, let's just go downstairs." Kyle nodded, but still seemed unsure. When his light steps brought him close enough, he reached for Eric's hand. Under any other circumstance, Eric would have wrenched it away and thrown a royal fit. But... this was his reanimated muse. The only man he'd ever suffered for. Nearly his creation. So he let them hold hands. Besides. The gesture was secretly comforting.

They walked down the steps, Cartman reminding him cooly to take it slow, lest he bust his newly sewn together body apart. Eric analyzed everything the new Kyle did. His hand was cold and clammy. A sign of poor circulation. He'd have to watch that. The braver it got, the more it's facial expressions reminded him of Kyle. Inquisitive. Intelligent. When it's hair grew back, he imagined that it would look less like a monstrous science experiment and more like his Kyle.

"Are we in a castle?" it asked in awe of the long spiral stairwell.

"No, maybe a want-to-be mansion at best," Cartman shrugged, squeezing it's hand lightly. It was nice to hear Kyle's voice sound stronger. More like himself.

"Do you remember anything?" Cartman asked.

"I remember... A cold feeling. It was so cold. Than I woke up and you were there. But I thought you were dead. You didn't move for a long time and you were so pale and cold..." Kyle trailed off.

"What about before that?"

Kyle shook his head, no.

Eric sighed, his bones aching with pain, "How do you feel?"

"I feel... Cold. And these," Kyle ran his hand right above the stitches under his ribcage, "...they hurt. My head and my stomach hurt. Please, why am I covered in cuts? Was I in an accident?"

The word made Cartman cough, "Sort of..."

It must've been hard for him, waking up in this strange world. Eric wasn't sure what part of his brain had been damaged. He'd heard of cases where people lost their memory, but kept intellectual knowledge like it seemed Kyle had... But he had been legally dead for almost a week. Could it be the same thing? Or was it something much worse? It worried him. He'd broken so many laws, performed suicidal self surgery on himself. Kyle wasn't allowed to die... Again.

The pair made their way, hands locked, to Cartman' bedroom. He dropped Kyle off there, instructed him briefly on where to find clothes, and told him he'd be back. "You shouldn't have to worry about anything being tight enough to rub against your wounds, I don't think. But be careful anyway..." The big wooden door squeaked shut, hitting the wall with a small thud.

"Clothes," Kyle whispered, he'd barely noticed he was naked before the subject came up. Embarrassment flooded over him. That nice man must think he was some sort of exhibitionist. Worst of all, he'd held his hand, and everything was just hanging out... How disastrous. Kyle tried to placate himself. After all, the man was shirtless too. So maybe it was okay? Whatever had happened before... It must not be his fault that he woke up in the nude. The weather hardly permitted it, and he was pretty sure he wasn't stupid.

Kyle looked through the man's wardrobe, everything was oversized. But he'd been told that tight was bad. So it was fine. Everything seemed so fancy, he didn't want to get blood on the man's nice clothes. After some rummaging, he managed to find an old, plain dress shirt. It hung just past his shame. None of the pants would fit him at all, so he decided not to bother. At least the shirt provided some amount of warmth and modesty.

Kyle wasn't sure where to put himself. His first instinct was to go looking for the man, but he'd told him to stay put. Everything was big and frightful and new. Part of him was still scared, but now,  
the other side took over. Kyle explored the room inquisitively.

The man had a sizable set of books. The leather bindings felt so smooth and cool under Kyle's  
touch. At random, he chose one and opened it to a random page. "Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind..." the words struck him. Something in his mind clicked.

"Shakespeare," Kyle whispered with a smile. All the plays and poetry came rushing back to him. The stupid young romances, the treachery, the the deaths of heroes and villains, the words weaved like silk into the pages. Kyle hugged the book, glad for some sort of memory to cling onto.

When Cartman came back into the room, carrying a tray with assorted food items, Kyle was sitting on the floor in the corner with face buried in a book. The sight made him smile. It really was Kyle, wasn't it? He set down the tray and walked carefully over to the crouched reading form.

"You can interrupt me," Kyle told him suddenly, lowering the book and smiling, "I've read this several times anyhow."

"You remember the book?" Cartman's eyebrows rose.

"I remember all sorts of literature now, as soon as I saw them, they just... came back. You have so many copies of these works... But you seem so young... Were you born into money?" Kyle's eyes gleamed.

"That's another long story," Cartman answered nervously, thinking about the corrupted ways he'd gained his small fortune, "Why don't you try to eat something and I'll start by telling the one of how you ended up here... like this," Cartman offered his hand to Kyle, who gladly took it. Kyle hoped that the man didn't notice the redness he felt rise in his cheeks. It felt nice, the way the large warm hand engulfed his own.

They sat on the bed in the center of the room. It was oversized like many of the man's things, and the design on the silky blankets and pillows spoke of wealth and opulence. Kyle almost felt bad eating on it, but the man was doing the same, much messier than him. The story seemed rather dramatized at first. The call the man had received, the dark description of the setting he was in. But when he told Kyle he'd been pronounced dead...

"Impossible!" Kyle cried, eyes wide.

"But it's true. You were dead and buried."

"Than how am I here listening to this?"

"I'm getting to that!" Cartman spoke with slight irritation, but continued the tale, not sparing any detail. Kyle listened, leaning forward in shock, looking sick at parts, and staring at Eric with admiration the next. By the time the entire explanation was through, Eric was laying down under the covers, eyes closed, but voice unwavering.

"You..." Kyle choked on the word. He stared down at the man who'd just told him this fantastic story. Even though it seemed farfetched, something told him it was true. That cold feeling he remembered... That was death. He had been dead. It made his stomach churn. For in his sleep of death, no dreams had come. The pump of his heart seemed so fragile in that moment, but he couldn't have been more thankful for it.

Eric was drifting back to sleep, still exhausted and pained. It would probably be like this for a while... His eyes flew open when the bed shifted and there was the sudden feeling of a little arm lightly hugging his chest. It was obvious that Kyle was avoiding his wound. The gesture was almost too sweet. But he let it happened, even put his arm around the cold little body.

"Thank you," Kyle whispered, "I'm forever in your debt. Really."

"Yeah, you are, huh," Cartman laughed at his own brass sense of humor. If Kyle had his memories, he was sure he would've at least been punched in the arm, but this Kyle was unfazed.

"What were we when I was alive?" Kyle asked, "What... what was are relationship, I mean? We must have been close."

"What do you think we were?" Cartman asked him sleepily.

"I don't want to say, in case I'm wrong," Kyle's white, stitched up face blushed.

Nearly asleep now, Eric hummed pleasantly. His response tumbled out on autopilot, "Go ahead."

"Were we... lovers?" Kyle asked quietly.

Eric's body seemed to have a miniature seizure. His eyes shot open, suddenly very, very awake. "What? No! Where did you get that from? We're not... We don't even like one another," he tried to keep his voice even. Maybe Kyle had more serious brain damage than he'd thought.

"It... took a lot of love to do what you did. You broke laws, you risked your life, and put yourself through such an intense pain... Just for me. You can't tell me that, even if it isn't romantic, you don't love me."

"I DON'T love you!" Eric cried, grabbing his arm away. from the other man, "Why would I... It's more complicated than that! I don't LOVE you. I just can't... live without you? No! I CAN live without you, I just wouldn't like that... It's..." Eric stammered and thought rapidly for the answer.

Kyle smiled, "You love me."

"No I-"

"But it's okay," Kyle hushed him, placing his pointer finger lightly on Eric's lips, "It's okay that you love me. Because I love you too. How could I not?"

Eric was speechless. The amount of emotions running through him was making him crazy. It scared him, more than anything, because he feared that the rag-doll of a man was right. Except about the last part. His voice was low, "You might think you do right now... But you don't even LIKE me, much less love me. I'm... I'm not who you think I am."

"I don't care who you were to me before," Kyle laughed, nuzzling himself into Eric, "Now you're the man who risked everything, and defied all reason to save me. Whatever you did in the past... this has to forgive it."

"I don't know..." Eric was a bit uncomfortable with the whole thing still. He'd wanted Kyle back, but Eric doubted Kyle could ever stop hating him, much less... Profess the very opposite passion!

Seeing the doubt on his face, Kyle sat up next to him, "Name one thing that you've done that would be so unforgivable."

Cartman recalled arguably the worst thing he'd ever done, "I murdered my own father. And fed him to my half brother. The boy went mad, and had to be locked away. And you know what? I know I should have, but I didn't feel an ounce of remorse. I still don't."

Kyle wasn't sure if he believed that. Everything this man said was so unbelievable though. As awful as it was, the fantasy and emotion of it all almost attracted him to Eric more. The dangerous man who only had feelings for him. Like something out of a suspenseful, romantic book.

After considering the new information, Kyle decided, "Well, I suppose it tells me something about your character, but that's not something you did to me personally."

Eric growled, "But I've tortured you more than anyone else! I stole from you, humiliated you, blackmailed you into the lowest of acts! I tried to make you self-conscious about everything that defines you, your appearance, your religion, your background. On a few occasions, I even tried to kill you! Don't love me, it's a mistake to try to."

The room fell silent, but the echo of his words rang in both their minds. Kyle tilted his head to the side, eyebrows coming together. His expression was so sad that Eric suddenly wished he could take back all that he said, and let Kyle live for whatever time he could in ignorance. His head dropped, a pain rising within him from something other than his physical wounds.

A deep sigh from Kyle cut through the atmosphere. "You... Could've taken advantage of me. But you didn't. So... I want to reiterate what I told you before. It doesn't matter what atrocities you've committed in the past. People change. And it sounds like you have. At least enough to let you have the capacity to care for me like you clearly do. Even now, you're trying to protect me from yourself. It's... sweet," Kyle boldly kissed him on the cheek, "And I love you all the more for it."

"You really are just like Kyle, you know that? Too trusting. Too forgiving."

"I am Kyle, stupid," his light laugh pierced the room once more, "I may be missing a few things right now, but... I'm convinced that he'll be back." Eric hoped he was right, but at the same time... this Kyle was nice too.

The conversation wound down from there, and as Eric drifted to sleep, he thought about all the lovey stuff the ragdoll-Kyle, now silently snuggling into him, had talked about. The more he thought about it, the more he agreed. He cared about Kyle much more than he let himself believe.

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**COMMENT! There's only beer and salsa in my fridge, so I have to feed off your responses.**


	2. Broken

**Author's Note: Ah! Thank you so much for your guys' comments. I'm glad the consensus seems to be that they're in character. Remember: your comments power my laser-eyes which defend the planet against space attacks and the far-right!**

**I was in a very different state of mind when I was writing the first part verses the second part of this chapter... Probably due to the fact that for most of the second part I was listening to the song 'Everything is Awesome' on repeat. I'm not sure if it shows. (And holy Hell, I'm sorry it's so dang short, I didn't even realize until I saw the word count... it must be because not enough people are commenting!)**

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Weeks went by, and their cuts had begun to heal. Kyle had a few shallow ones that already had already turned into delicate pink scars. Eric kept a close watch on both of them. Infection could mean the worst. There was no room for sloppy mistakes.

Neither of them left the house at all. Cartman had Mr. Stotch bring him a list of things whenever the need arose.

"Wow, Eric. Are you sure you're staying in another day? I mean... people are starting to get real worried about you," Stotch nervously played with his hands, searching his friend's face.

"I have business to attend to, and I fear I may have some... minor illness."

"Oh no!" his eyes lit up, "Do you want me to call a doctor?"

"No, Butters," Eric rolled his eyes, using the man's old nickname, "Just get the stuff on here," he thrust a crumpled piece of parchment at him, "Don't fuck it up, okay?"

"Oh... Okay. But Eric, I just want to know, is this about Kyle? It's been almost a month. Have you thought about talking to someone about it?"

"I think I'm good," and with that Eric slammed the door in his face.

"Well that was fucking rude," Kyle scolded from the kitchen archway.

"You shouldn't even be out here!" Eric cried defensively, "What if he would've seen you?"

"What if he had?" Kyle huffed, slamming his copy of Wuthering Heights shut. In truth, he found it a bit boring, but it was one of the only books in the house he couldn't remember the plot of. He supposed that he could relate to being forced to stay in an estate with a deranged man.

Annoyed with Cartman for being an inconsiderate bastard, Kyle begun to stomp to a different room to pout. But Eric grabbed his arm, "If people saw you... They wouldn't understand. I'd be ostracized and God knows what they'd do to you."

"I know," Kyle's voice shook, "But he... seems like such a nice man. I want to meet someone. I feel so confined... You and the cat are great, but there's an entire world out there that I can only ever remember reading about! I see the people moving around from the window... I want to have human contact..."

Eric ran his hand over the red fuzz that was prickling on Kyle's head. They met each other's eyes. Their bodies touched lightly together, both conscious of how fragile the other was. Kyle brought his arms up to Eric's shoulders, pulling him close enough that their noses lightly brushed. Their lips finally met, eyes shut, pulses rising. It wasn't the first time since the reanimation that they had embraced and kissed. It was becoming a more frequent occurrence, Eric more comfortable with the idea, and Kyle feeling more like his old confident self as the days wore on.

Eric's breath was hot and pleasant on Kyle's trembling lips, "I'll... let you meet some of our friends. If it'll make you happy."

"Yes," Kyle gave him several more little kisses on his mouth, and squeezed onto his broad shoulders before letting go.

As he sauntered away, Eric couldn't help but watch his back and think of how much healthier Kyle had been looking. Skin that had been white and clammy glowed with life once more, with special thanks to the hours he spent in the sun, gazing out the open window longingly. Even some of the muscle Kyle had lost to his illness right before his death was filling in. He looked less like a lifeless rag-doll and more like himself... With a couple extra scratches.

The next evening, Cartman greeted his two oldest, and closest friends out on his porch. He gingerly moved to the side, letting them pass through the front doorway, "Gentlemen."

Stan stepped past him first, with a grimace and an eye-roll. His clothes remained dark and colorless in mourning. The depressed appearance he'd adopted was complete with bags under his lifeless eyes. Since Kyle's death he'd withdrawn himself from social gatherings, however small. He hadn't wanted to come tonight, but Cartman was very adamant. It was just the three of them anyhow. He figured the real reason Cartman called them over was to get drunk and cry together. A nice change to the last month he'd been at it alone.

Kenny walked in next, with a sad little smile on his face. "Hey, do me a favor and go easy on the guy, he's still really messed up about everything, okay?" Eric grunted incoherently. He'd never been particularly empathetic. Why should he care if Stan was upset? Whatever the case, he figured that old Stany would get over his little depression once he saw his dead best friend again. Who wouldn't?

Cartman placed both hands behind his back, and grinned at his friends manically, "I have something very exciting to share with you."

"One hundred proof alcohol?" Stan guessed with a lackluster gaze.

"Better."

"You finally bought me a pony?" Kenny squealed happily, knocking himself into Cartman playfully.

"Feh, and how would you plan to feed, and take care of that, poor boy?"

"Shut up! At least I'm not-"

Stan's voice cut through the pair, "Can you guys not play fight? It reminds me of when Cartman and... used to..." his voice wavered and faded. Holy shit, really? Apparently everything reminded him of Kyle.

The palpable emotion radiating off of Stan made Cartman more than slightly uncomfortable. So he cleared his throat loudly, and motioned toward the doorway, "Let's just go."

In the next room over, Kyle nervously tapped his hand on his leg. His face contorted oddly as he tried to remember how to do that smile he'd practiced in the mirror earlier. Lightly, he told himself. Too forced and it just looked grotesque, and boy did he not need help looking like a monster. A wave of self consciousness hit him, and he suddenly became very aware of that particularly ugly scar the wrapped around his head. It was the only big one he couldn't hide.

A few days earlier, Kyle recalled glumly, he'd found an old photograph. Oh, he wish he'd never found the horrible thing. It was of him, Cartman, and some other men, from before his death. He'd been entranced at first. It was proof that he'd had a life before. Friends. But than... when Kyle had excitedly shown Cartman, the man looked at the torn up black and white thing with such longing, and said, without thinking too much on it, "Hopefully that'll be you again someday."

It turned the whole picture sour. Kyle felt detached from his image in the picture. He didn't look how Kyle was supposed to, or think how Kyle was supposed to. What if that was never him again? He wanted to be enough right now. Whole. Unafraid to go into the world without facing probable persecution...

"Holy shit balls."

Kyle stood up at the sudden voice, walking slowly towards the new faces. He recognized them. From the picture... They were both stunned at the sight of him, and he wasn't sure what he should say. What do you say when you're an old friend among strangers?

The blond man was the first to recover. He narrowed his eyes and crept a few feet closer. "Kyle?" He whispered, "I knew it."

Kenny had been to both Heaven and Hell in the last month, multiple times, actually. Not once had he seen Kyle, and not for lack of searching. He'd known something was off. Now it was clear, Kyle's soul had never ascended because it'd been here all along.

It barely shook him to see his previously dead friend. No, he was merely ecstatic. Kenny grinned madly, and threw his arms around Kyle, "Damn, it's good to see you." Kyle groaned in slight pain, but patted Kenny's back bit. It was exactly the type of connection he'd been craving. The heat of another body, the feel of a loving presence around him. And from a new face. A new personality.

Their reunion was interrupted by Stan chanting, "No, no, no..." Everyone looked toward the shaken man. His tired expression had turned manic. "You. You're dead," he pointed at Kyle, and slowly backed away.

"Obviously he's not, dumbass," Cartman rolled his eyes, leaning against the doorway in a bored manner.

The inconsiderate gesture only rattled Stan more. He turned on Cartman, taking him up by the front of his shirt and shaking him, "No!" he grimaced and blinked rapidly, as if trying to wake himself up from a sort of nightmare, "I saw it! I was there! He died in my arms. Kyle is dead! Dead dead dead! Don't try and tell me-"

Kenny gently touched his shoulder, guiding him away from Cartman. He spoke nice and soft, as not to offend the obviously precarious state Stan was in, "Stan, Kyle is standing right next to us. Alive. Why don't we just calm down and give Kyle and Cartman a chance to explain themselves, okay?"

Stan stared blankly at him a moment. Kyle had been gone a month. It didn't seem like very long on a grand scale, but the last weeks had felt like a Hellish eternity to Stan. He'd barely come to terms with Kyle's death, and now they were thrusting this faceless ragdoll at him and telling him that his other half was really alive and well. It had to be another nightmare. Stan hesitantly glanced at Kyle once more. It really did look like him. The thing looked so afraid. Of him. Of what he'd say. Maybe... Stan bit his lip and quietly asked, "Kyle? Is it... is it really you?"

"Yes- I think so... I mean... can't remember much from before my death-"

"From before your death? What?" Stan searched his beat friend's scarred up face, than spun around to Cartman again. He rose an accusing finger towards his fat chest, "What the FUCK did you do?"

Cartman scoffed, "You mean besides bring your supposed best friend back from the dead -almost killing myself in the process? Uh, not fucking much."

"He was dead... And you... I don't know what you did, but this isn't right," Stan growled, trying to work everything out in his head. He spent much of the last weeks talking with his priest. He'd never been much of a religious type before, but he found it was something to cling on to. The priest had been trying to placate him by telling him that God needed his friend. That everything was supposed to die. And well, Stan had begun to find solace in his faith. This all seemed very sacrilegious to him.

"How do we know it's even him anymore? He says he doesn't remember anything!"

Cartman's nearly nonexistent patience was completely gone, "Look, I don't know why you're being such a dickhole about this, but he IS starting to remember. I've been looking into retrograde amne-"

"Jesus Christ! Just stop!" Stan pulled at his hair, "Kenny, you can't possibly condone this fat asshole... playing God!"

"Stan..." Kenny patted a wilted Kyle's shoulder, "You're upsetting him."

"Oh? I'm fucking upsetting the dead guy?" Stan threw his hands up, "Let me explain this to you. Kyle is GONE. Cartman desecrated his grave, and made some kind of..." he looked Kyle up in down in reproach, "...THING out of his remains. And we're just supposed to act like everything is fine?"

Cartman was getting a little tired of this charade. He didn't really care if Stan was in a delicate state of mind. No one insulted Eric Cartman. Least of all in his own fucking home. Not to mention that he was obviously making Kyle uncomfortable. He pushed himself off the wall, and attempted to puff himself up to look more threatening, "Quit being such a prick or get the fudge out of my house."

Stan shoved his hands into his pockets, heading toward the door with a grimace, "Don't think this is over, you twisted fuck..."

"Out!"

The room fell silent as they listened to the thundering of Stan's departure. When the door slammed, Kyle's silent composer fell. He quickly walked over to Cartman. Pale little fingers grabbed ahold of Cartman's shirt, as if it was the only thing that could anchor them to the Earth. Kyle couldn't stand to look anyone in the face, not even Cartman just than, so he buried his head into the soft cloth bunch up his grasp. "You were right-" is all he could could manage to squeak out before breaking down into a quivering mess of tears.

Cartman sighed and put an arm around the frail shivering man. There wasn't really a place for his usual 'I told you so' followed by a series of childish mockery, but he wasn't sure what else there was to say. So he just kept his mouth shut. Maybe Kenny would be of better help in the comfort department. He looked toward him and dramatically mouthed, 'Say something.'

Kenny, who had been watching the oddly affectionate display with some amount of interest, shrugged in response and silently replied, 'What?'

'SOMETHING NICE.'

Kenny rolled his eyes, his body shaking with a quiet laughter at Cartman's ineptitude. He reached his hand out and patted Kyle's back, calculating exactly what he wanted to say.

"Stan... was closer to you than anyone else. It really messed him up when you- you know. I promise, it's not your fault that he reacted the way he did. It's just that he's in a really dark place right now. I'm sure he'll come out of it soon, though." Kyle's red, tear stained face turned to glance at Kenny, who smiled gently back at him. "If it makes you feel any better, I think it's fucking tits that you're back. Things just haven't been the same without our little bookworm around." A smile cracked onto Kyle's face, yeah that was him alright.

For the first time since his feeling of confinement had set in, hope was instilled in Kyle. Hope for a tomorrow with freedom and acceptance.

But across town, in a study deep within the confines of a tiny suburban house, the air took on a much more stale quality. Everything was shrouded in darkness, sans the corner cast in the light of one small flame in the center of a candelabra. The wax on the candle was nearly completely melted off, but the flickering light that shone onto the ghastly features of one Stan Marsh was exactly the same as if the candle had been brand new. He sat with an empty bottle of scotch hanging loosely in one hand. His other hand brushed loosely against his face, feeling the hollowness of his under eyes and the worried wrinkles forming on his young face. His life was a fucking disaster.

"Stan?" a high but gentle voice called from the doorway. There, in the harsh light if the hallway, stood the silhouette of his fiancé, Wendy.

"Oh God. Oh God, Wendy..." Stan wailed, hitting the back of his head on the chair.

"What? What happened?" She picked up her long, layered skirt and rushed to his side. When she saw the alcohol he was handling, her face twisted in slight resentment, but she kept her complaints to herself for now.

"It's Kyle. He's... I mean to say... his body is..." Stan struggled to find the correct term. He didn't believe that Kyle was alive. Just that his body had been reanimated.

"What? Did something happened to his grave?"

"Yes. Cartman. He... he somehow made it move again. His body. It can walk and talk..."

"Kyle... He's alive?" Wendy asked in a slow, unsure tone.

"No! No, no... It's not him. It can't be..."

"You've been drinking an awful lot, Stan," she told him hesitantly.

Stan stood up defensively, throwing his hands up, "I know what I saw, okay. It was him- but it's not RIGHT, Wendy. It's... It's blasphemous, is what it is."

A shadow fell over Wendy's face, "You're positive that he's back?"

"Yes, for God's sakes, Wendy, I think I know my own best friend when I see him. Even if he's... a zombie or whatever..."

"Stan, sweetie? I can guarantee you that it wasn't him. It's just stress from lack of sleep."

"No, it was-"

"You just need to sleep it off. I'm sure you'll feel better once you sleep."

"-it was really Kyle, though-"

"Oh, fuck it," Wendy muttered, and grabbed the empty scotch bottle from Stan. He gave her a questioning look, right before she smashed the glass over his head.

"Ow! Fucking Hell, why did you-" he rubbed his bruised head tenderly, blinking away black spots. His slight daze made his reaction to Wendy smacking him with an oversized encyclopedia too slow. He fell to the floor, unconscious.

"That always works the first time in the films," Wendy muttered irritably. She knelt over him, opening one of his eyes. It didn't dilate. Also the blood on the encyclopedia was a little bit worrisome. She whispered apologetically, "Sorry, Stan."

Leaving her bloodied fiancé passed out on top of broken shards of glass, Wendy briskly walked to the old black phone, picked up the receiver, and gave the operator the extension she needed. "It's Wendy. Yah. We've got a problem."

* * *

**I hope what I was trying to accomplish with Stan came across right... He's not the bad guy, the Catholics just got to him. And I can say that because I (sort of used be) Catholic.**

**In personal me-news: I've been trying to seduce an on-the-fence-bisexual Laotian. She's much too nice for me, but wish me luck anyhow! In the comments maybe? With comprehensive feedback to the story attached?**


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